


Nothing More

by scatteringmyashes



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Fenris (Dragon Age), M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 11:51:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11379618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: When your wants and needs have been decided for you for most of your life, it can be hard to decide what is real and what isn't. Fenris considers this, his relationship to Hawke, and wonders."The thing is, Fenris doesn’t ever remember liking sex."





	Nothing More

**Author's Note:**

> For Fenris Week 2017 -- the prompt was "lust/chastity" and really I just needed an excuse to write asexual Fenris. 
> 
> He says a lot of things about being broken or flawed. He isn't, but he doesn't know that.

The thing is, Fenris doesn’t ever remember liking sex. Of course, he doesn’t remember a great deal of things even after he’s slept with Hawke, even after the memories come flooding back only to disappear like a flash flood, but that’s not the point.

He doesn’t know how he feels about sex. He knows how Isabella -- who won’t shut up about her friend fiction -- sees it and he knows how Aveline -- who won’t shut up about shaming Isabella for the aforementioned fiction -- views it. Even Merrill and Sebastian have thrown in their two cents at least once, whether it’s an off-hand comment as they pass the Blooming Rose or shared over one too many drinks at the Hanged Man.

It’s natural to want people. That alone has taken Fenris longer than he would care to admit to understand. But he has slowly come to terms with the idea that wanting someone -- wanting someone in particular -- is normal and natural and ok. He doesn’t have to feel shame when he is a little more eager to see Hawke’s smile than anyone else’s and he doesn’t have to worry about falling back into old patterns when he fights for Hawke’s approval more than anyone else’s. 

They fight together and Fenris feels -- he feels complete. Like this is somewhere he can enjoy being. And it terrifies him a little, until he hears Aveline say the same about Donnic and really looks at the way Varric pats Bianca. 

Fenris isn’t sure if it would be more or less weird if Bianca wasn’t a crossbow. 

Still, he can’t ask for advice. He doesn’t have the words. No, that’s a lie. If there’s anything he has nowadays, it’s too many words. He fears that if he opens his mouth, they’ll all come pouring out and it’ll be too late to stop them, too late to hold back all of the things that keeps him up at night. 

Not just Danarius. Not anymore. Slavery is not the only thing Fenris fears. 

Being vulnerable to anyone, even to Hawke, is too much. Fenris has imagined it, or tried to. But while he craves the casual touches, the looks, the shared moments, he cannot bring himself to picture the rest. Even the night they shared together triggers Fenris’ anxiety, makes his heart race and his palms go sweaty. There is something wrong with him, he assumes. 

He just wishes that he knew whether it was Danarius’ fault or not. 

No one talks about it. They don’t know, like Merrill, or they know better than to bring it up, like Aveline. Even Isabela remains quiet on the subject, thankfully. 

Well, almost no one talks about the figurative Qunari in the room. 

“You and Hawke --” It’s Anders. Somehow, he wants to talk more about _it_ than Hawke does. Up ahead, Hawke and Varric are joking about rogue things, like picking locks and catching templars in traps. 

“Leave it,” Fenris growls. He knows what Anders says, about him being more dog than elf. Sometimes Fenris thinks he’s correct.

Other days, Fenris knows he’s wrong. An animal would have stayed. An animal would not have the -- the same reservations that he has. 

“You left him,” Anders continues anyway, as if he’s ever listened to what Fenris has said. 

In another life, perhaps, they could get along. Fenris does admire, in a way, Anders’ stubborn disposition and his drive. And of course Anders is dedicated to his cause and to the inhabitants of Lowtown. But he cannot forgive Anders for his repeated slights, for his repeated talk about freeing all mages. As if mages can all be trusted.

Hawke can be trusted. Anders? Fenris would not trust him with a nug. 

“Leaving Hawke was the hardest thing I have ever done. Do not make light of it.” 

Hawke and Varric, ahead of the two bickering behind them, laugh again. Fenris can tell it’s forced and he wonders how much of the conversation the rogues are hearing. _All of it, no doubt,_ he thinks. 

He clenches his fists and keeps walking. If the mage wants a reaction out of him, he will have to try harder.

They make good time, kill some giant spiders, and no one dies. No one even needs serious healing, though there is a gash on Fenris’ arm that he almost refuses to have healed. He can be stubborn, he can be stupid. But all that would do is insult Anders and leave him to bleed on the walk back to Kirkwall so Fenris nods when Hawke asks him if he’d like to be healed.

Fenris pretends that he doesn’t see the look of relief on Hawke’s face. 

Somehow, the two of them end up next to each other on the walk back. Varric is telling Anders some story -- half of it is true but the other half is a lie and Fenris isn’t certain where the bit about the baby dragon falls. 

For a while, Hawke is quiet. Things have not been _weird_ between him and Fenris, but they have not been normal either. Fenris knows he’s partially to blame. If he could only express himself better, talk about how he feels, then maybe this would not be an issue.

If he told Hawke how he feels, how the idea of sex repulses him and how he still loves Hawke with all his heart, then he has no doubt that Hawke would leave. 

_As if he has not already,_ Fenris thinks with a scowl. He kicks at the ground, a few rocks skittering over the dirt. Hawke glances at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Fenris can’t look back at him, turns his head away so he can glower at a bundle of grass that stubbornly shoots up from the cliffside. It’s when he starts relating to the grass, life growing in a place that it should not be, that he knows that he is in a bad mood. 

“How does your arm feel?” Hawke asks. Fenris shrugs. It no longer hurts from the cut, if that is his concern. There is the residual pain from the brands that always runs up and down his limbs, but that is so normal that he hardly notices it. “You -- you took that hit for me.” 

Fenris shrugs again. Hawke is not wrong. He is a good rogue, able to sneak when necessary and come out of the shadows and kill enemies with a single hit, but he is unable to take much damage before falling. That is why Fenris is around, though. He exists to be hurt for others. That is why he was created and it would be foolish of him to ignore that.

He says none of that, of course. It would only concern Hawke. Fenris knows that Hawke struggles enough with feeling like he’s some kind of replacement for Danarius. He is not. Fenris knows that. He knows that he never enjoyed being at Danarius’ side the way he does with Hawke, that he never was so eager for a smile or a bit of laughter. Danarius, of course, rarely smiled and he did not laugh. He chuckled. 

Hawke laughs and he drinks shitty Ferelden beer and tells stories about mabari and how he once stole his sister’s dress and is so _rough_ and Fenris loves him for it. There is nothing polished about a rogue who grew up on the road, always running from templars. 

“You don’t need to get hurt for me,” Hawke says. It is not the first time he has said this and it will not be the last. 

In lieu of anything else to say, Fenris shrugs. He does that a lot with Hawke. As long as he keeps his mouth shut, he knows he can hold himself back from saying anything stupid. That is the important part. He must not drive Hawke away, he must not drive Hawke away, he must not drive --

“Hey, Hawke. Tell Blondie here that I’m telling the truth!” Varric calls back. 

Anders rolls his eyes and huffs. “There is no way that even you convinced the entirety of the Carta that those shipments were nothing but stuffed nugs.” 

“Sorry, Anders, that one’s true,” Hawke says. Fenris doesn’t know if he’s lying until Anders looks away and Hawke winks. Just once, just for Fenris. 

He coughs to cover up his laugh but it does nothing to hide the small smile that grows. Hawke grins back, his eyes glimmering with happiness and excitement and pride.

And hope. There is always so much hope in Hawke that it’s contagious. Perhaps that is why Fenris has not given up. Despite everything, despite remaining quiet about a great many things, despite doubting even more, Fenris has not given up on a future that… That maybe, one day, he and Hawke can be together. 

That Hawke will accept him, flaws and jagged edges, and love him nonetheless. 

The thing is, Fenris doesn’t ever remember liking sex. He doesn’t remember liking anyone, not in the way that matters. 

Except for Hawke. He loves Hawke. And he hopes that Hawke could love him enough to hold him, kiss him, and do nothing more.


End file.
